Avalanche
by SongoftheDarquePhoenix
Summary: Ed is forced to rely on the Colonel Bastard himself- or risk never getting off this damned mountain.
1. Chapter 1, Impact

**_Avalanche_**

**_By: Song_**

_**Summary: **Ed is forced into relying on the Colonel Bastard himself- or risk never getting off this damned mountain.  
_

_Summary V1: If anyone had told Roy Mustang and Edward Elric they would be sleeping together by the end of the week, they would have laughed hysterically before quickly changing the subject._

_Paternal!RoyXEd.. or perhaps camaraderie. No, seriously, this isn't yaoi._

**A/U:**_ Believe it or not, this isn't actually yaoi. RoyXEd scares me to be frank. I don't have anything against yaoi- hell, my OTP out of all my fandoms is a yaoi pairing. RoyXEd though? Just... no. There's _WAAAY_ to much of a pedophilia vibe in it. More than anything this was meant as a bit of a satirist piece on the pairing. But, take it how you will. I would encourage you to review though ;)_

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Everything had started out normally enough. So normally in fact, that if anyone had told a Colonel Mustang and Edward Elric that they would be sleeping together by the end of the week they would have laughed hysterically at the sheer absurdity of the whole thing before quickly changing the subject in disgust.

That being said, nothing in Edward Eric's life could ever be considered "normal".

It began with a request from a small mining town in a high valley between two mountains just shy of the Border of Drachma. Not quite so far as the Briggs, but close enough to warrant the presence of two State Alchemists instead of the usual one.

The mission was simple enough; reinforce the mine, so the workers could safely extract the various precious metals that the Amestrian Economy depended on. Normally this much effort would not go into one such small and insignificant mine- however it was this particular mine that supplied the silver for the official pocket watches.

Unfortunately said pair of State Alchemists never made it that far. In fact, they never even made it up the mountain.

The two alchemists were happily ignoring each other in the only heated car of freight train in which they were traveling. Due to the remoteness of the township, the only transport was the train which supplied goods to and from the small mining community.

Edward was reading the debriefing on the mission (as well as what little he could discern from a manual about mining)- the sooner he could get out of the snow and ice, the better. Automail and cold weather DO NOT mix. At all. Ever. End of story.

Mustang was quietly snoozing, a small snot bubble expanding and contracting in time with his breathing.

The train was glided along the tracks, groaning and shuddering at the cold weather as it climbed. To one side, a mountain painted with snow-covered trees, not unlike the kind Ed and Al used to decorate during the holidays as children. On the other side, a steeply sloping facets where many years of freeze-thaw cycles had caused the trunks of trees to shape like bows as their branches reached for the clouded heavens. Below, a lake frozen into a mirror like surface reflecting the grey sky. Beyond that were the silhouettes of a far away range cloaked in the snow blown from their peaks. Somewhere between here and there the firs thinned becoming sparse and spindly forming the tree line.

They were due at the town just as darkness was to fall- and though the sun could not be seen through the generous cloud cover, it was little past noon.

The higher the train climbed the thinner the air became and the more Ed noticed his automail. Normally it was something that was just there- another hurtle to jump in his quest for the Philosopher's stone and restoring Al to full humanity. That being stated, the higher the altitude and the colder it got, the more sluggish and painful his automail became.

It made sense in that aspect. Nerve transmission is an electrochemical impulse and as the chemicals within the wiring would move more slowly as the energy was sapped by the cold air and his automail became sluggish. Of course, his body temperature did not flux with the altitude, hence more painful zaps from the marriage of flesh and steel.

Flakes began to drift lazily past the windows adding to the picturesque scene. Frost crystallized on the outside of the glass, while the windows fogged up in the compartment. Yawning and stretching, Ed placed his reading material on the floor, leaned back and decided that Mustang, for once, actually had a decent idea.

When Ed next awoke it was to a thunderous sound similar to that of the ocean or white water rapids- a deep groaning like the very earth itself was falling apart. Before he knew what was going on, he was upside down, sideways, backwards and a few other directions that have no official names. An odd sense of vertigo gripped his inner ear as the world righted itself to an disorienting and endless expanse of white. The last thing he remembered hearing before all consuming gray took over his visual cortex was the distorted voice of his commanding officer.

Colonel Roy Mustang, bless his devious little soul, knew what was happening as soon as he came too- which was thankfully some time before his subordinate, as he had enough time to brace himself for impact. He was dazed from the crash, but conscious and for the most part alive... if slightly worse for wear.

Ed wasn't as lucky.

Bruises were already beginning to form beneath his skin- a nasty looking goose egg had found it's place at his temple complete with blood as it attempted to hatch. The automail arm looked like it was the culprit as it has a smear of blood, a few golden hairs and what looked suspiciously like a flap of skin were caught up in the machinery. It was a valiant fight though, as Ed's head had done about as much damage to the prosthetic limb as the prosthetic had done to him. He _was_ fairly hard headed. Roy would be very, very surprised if the arm still worked. He would also be surprised if Ed's brains weren't at least slightly addled from the altercation as well. (There would be no way to tell until he regained consciousness. Even then it might be a bit of a challenge.)

That was not to say that Mustang didn't have his own collection of bumps and bruises, but he was fully awake- unlike Ed.

Speaking about the small blond- "Ed? Ed? You awake?" He questioned as he shook the (much) smaller alchemist.

All he received in answer was a guttural "Guhh!"

Nope. Not awake then.

"Damn."

What used to be a floor was now the ceiling, or would have been, were it rotated another 30 degrees. As it was, the car was sort of laying its corner obviously kept in such an awkward position by the snow. Those nice, soft chairs were also useless now. A number of the windows were broken allowing frigid air to flow through the car, quickly sucking the life from the compartment. Snow had already begun to drift inside, piling rapidly in what was quickly evolving into white out conditions.

A grim realization took hold of the elder officer at that moment.

If he waited for for rescue, both he and Fullmetal would die.

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_I hope to have this story finished before the last of the snow melts. I started this last year, but resolved to write more than a few chapters before I posted. _

_Question for upcoming chapters- to squick, or not to squick? **Review and tell me what you think!**_


	2. Chapter 2, Day Zero

**_Avalanche_**

**_By: Song_**

**_Chapter Two, Day Zero_**

_A/U:_ _Reviews greatly appreciated!_

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Mustang busied himself with repairing the windows. While only a few simple transformations the task was surprisingly difficult. First, for the fact that transmutation sapped the energy which he was quickly loosing in this oxygen poor environment as his mitochondria struggled to keep up with the demand of his muscles. Second, because he had never studied much alchemy in depth other than fire- this was not the first time he had come to regret such a decision.

He was panting by the time the glass was fixed, but he knew it was far from over. The glass held little insulation ability, only stopping the wind sheer from sucking the life right out of them. If they even had a chance, he would have to pack the snow up and around the car.

Sighing he shed the half skirt of his uniform, placing it around Ed before gingerly opening one of the windows and crawling out.

Nothing but sparse evergreen forest could be seen wherever he looked. While that meant they would not starve to death, it also meant that there was little animal life and thus next to no protein. The sad looking fragment consisting of the caboose, their car and a few supply cars - what used to be a fully functioning train now resting upside down. Slightly further up the mountain he could just make out the long silhouette of the the rest of the iron monstrosity buried so deep in snow that the only hope to get it out would be the following summer when the icy clutches of winter had melted away.

After a moment of thought he pried open the the door to the engine, pleased to see a small amount of coal had not been thrown as the engine tumbled down the mountain's face. It took a few trips and some ingenuity, but Mustang transported the remaining fuel to their car as well as an iron plate to hold the material as it burned. Grabbing a few stray pieces of stuffing from the seats he placed the makeshift stove in the center of their shelter and lighting it with a snap of his fingers.

That at least would keep Ed from freezing until he had packed enough off the snow around the car to survive the storm. Hopefully during it too, if the coal lasted that long.

Looking at some of the green branches he had used to drag what little debris he could salvage an idea came to him. They could sleep on the boughs tonight to keep the ground from eating their body heat.* He paused before returning to the cold and stripping the dead branches too. Those could be burned if it came to that. (Which in all honesty it probably would, but he didn't want to think about that now.)

Snow was coming down thicker and thicker, fat flakes going from lazily floating to driving as if some unseen foreman conducted their flurry.

In some ways, that made his job easier. As soon as he had compacted one layer of snow, almost enough was piled on top to start a second.**

An undetermined amount of time passed before the sky began darkening quickly, signaling time for him to call it a day and reserve his energy. More feeling his way than seeing he found the tunnel he had constructed earlier to the opened window.

It was a nice change from the harsh cold air of the outside to the pleasantly warm (or at least comparatively) inside of the car. The fire was burning, the smoke escaping from a small hole at the apex of the car where had enough fore site to see was necessary lest they die of smoke inhalation from the very fire that was likely saving their lives.

Shaking off the snow from his uniform and placing what he could near the fire to dry, Mustang yawned, checking on his charge again.

Ed was cold and clammy, shivering violently enough to rattle the screws in his prosthetics.

"Shit, shit shit..." he swore. How could he have _forgotten_ that?

Ed's automail was bringing down his core temperature. Metal retains heat very well, on the reverse it means it was hard to warm up quickly and safely. He wasn't hypothermic... yet, but it was in his best interest for the metal to be detached.

"Ed?" He shook the blond softly.

Ed grumbled deliriously.

"Come on Ed- wake up.!" He shook Ed more vigorously.

Ed grumbled some more and turned away.

"That's an order soldier!"

Nothing.

"Dammit Ed, I've got to take off your automail, or so help me god!"

Bleary golden iris finally showed themselves, sparkling like topaz in the firelight.

"Guhuh?" Was the unintelligible communication.

More slowly this time, Mustang repeated himself. "I've got to take off your prosthetics. They are

keeping you from getting warm."

Ed nodded slightly leaving Mustang to hope that Ed was in no state to remember this. He had seen (or more accurately heard) the boy's automail installation.

This was going to hurt like hell.

Glad that Ed was, fore the most part still out of it (he was fairly sure it was more of a healing sleep than a brain damaged type) Mustang removed his jacket revealing the shining prosthetic. There were a number of small screws which held the thing in place, coupled with three clasps that kept it from falling off. The screws found their way safely into his pocket while the clasps hung waiting for further orders. With a grunt and an almighty heave the arm came off as the flesh shoulder tensed and flinched away from the unexpected pain.

The leg had a similar configuration but thankfully came off with much less fuss and a little less pain- on both ends.

Sometime during the procedure for Ed had lost his constitution. Yellow fowl smelling liquid was soaking through his underclothes.

Yes, he was very grateful the Ed was out cold. Regardless of the fact that they were now in a life or death situation, he might have died of embarrassment had he been awake to find his commanding officer cleaning and redressing him after he had wet himself.

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*Actual survival technique. Solids, such as ground hold onto heat (and thus the absence of heat) far more than just about anything else. Using the pine boughs to insulate yourself from the cold is a life saving move, as falling asleep in that kind of situation could very well end in death. This works because the branches trap air which can that (along with the wood) act as a insulation between the body and the ground.

**Also a survival technique. Snow is an excellent insulator, and can be used to make essentially a fort or snow cave. The Inuits use this to survive and even thrive in sub arctic temperatures where it gets well below freezing. The inside of an igloo can be upwards of 60 degrees Fahrenheit when warmed with just body heat, while the outside temperature can drop nearly 100 degrees (-50) below that. While a situation like this would probably not have that extreme of a temperature variation, a few degrees can be the difference between life and death.


End file.
